


So Get Your Gun and Meet Me By The Door

by akire_yta



Category: Bandom, Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-09
Updated: 2009-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pilot of Leverage. With MCR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://neviditelny.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://neviditelny.livejournal.com/)**neviditelny** for giving it a once-over. All other mistakes are entirely my own. I do not own Leverage, and the My Chem boys own themselves. No infringement intended. Don't Google Yourself.

“I’ve checked, Mr Way. The shuttle will be leaving in twenty.” Gerard saluted the bartender with his drink and lifted it to his lips.

“Excuse me? Excuse me?”

He froze, but didn’t look up as someone slid into the seat next to his. “Gerard Way?”

Gerard lowered his drink slowly to the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied the small, dumpy guy in the polyester golf shirt. “Sorry, you just missed him. Bye.” He lifted the drink again.

“Nuh-uh.” The stranger leant on the table, pushing himself into Gerard’s space. “I know all about you. You’re Gerard Way. Art school in New York – they said your final exhibition showed the most promise of anyone in your generation. Then your grandmother dies.” Gerard watched his knuckles go white around the glass, and forced himself to relax. “You put down the brush, produce nothing. They cancelled your fellowship, took away your studio. It looks like you’re on the road to nowhere. Then the Caravaggio is taken, and your insight is pivotal in procuring its safe return. You start consulting with the company on commission, then get taken on-board full time. You specialize in art theft, but soon diversify. Hey,” the stranger said with a shrug, “Art, money, jewels, it’s all beautiful to the thief. You save your company literally millions in payouts. You marry, start a family, the perfect model citizen. Then…tragedy.”

The whiskey spilled over the glass and trickled through Gerard’s fingers.

The stranger smiled. “What would you say if I told you I could get you a little payback?”

Gerard’s voice was hoarse, as strange to his ears as the other man’s. “I’d tell you to go to hell.”

He could almost hear the other man change tack. “What do you know about airplanes?”

Gerard looked for his coat. “That I should be on one shortly.”

The stranger stood with him, blocking his way. Gerard knew he wasn’t tall, but this guy was even shorter than he was, sweating slightly despite the frigid air conditioning. “Someone stole my designs,” he said plaintively. “My life’s work.”

Gerard snorted. “And, what? You want me to find them?”

The guy shook his head. “No, I know exactly where they are.” He leaned forward, eyes intent behind their steel-rimmed glasses. “I want you to steal them back. And fuck your old bosses over at the same time. Just hear me out. Please.”

Gerard blinked. “You have til my shuttle gets here.” He glanced over at the bar. “And you owe me a drink.”

They settled in a little nook in the corner, Gerard with his back to the wall, as he listened to the guy – Dubenich, he introduced himself like Gerard should have already known – tell his tale of woe. Industrial espionage, stolen designs, a rival. The classics were classic for a reason.

Gerard frowned as the guy excitedly outlined his plans. “You really want me to steal them back? I’m not a thief.” There were some lines he would never cross – he learnt the business because it let him help people. Stealing was anathema to that.

The guy shook his head vehemently as he dug out another folder and handed it over as if it contained missile codes. “Thieves I’ve got. Just look at this team I’ve assembled. Know them?”

He knew them. Hell, he’d chased them all, at one time or another. Despite himself, Gerard smiled. The best times of his professional life had been spent hunting down these guys. Real pros, they’d always made it a challenge.

He flipped through each dossier, no photos. Ray Toro, computer specialist and all round internet fraudster. The kid could damn near make a laptop get up and dance the two-step. Bob Bryar, retrieval specialist. He’d heard stories that had made him want to go home and hug…Gerard cut off that train of thought and turned the page.

“Iero,” he said in disbelief. “You got Frankie Iero?”

The guy shrugged. “Is there anyone better?”

Gerard stared at him. “No. But there’s nobody more insane than him, either. Guy’s a total straitjacket case. Just as likely to bounce off the walls as to get you what you want.” He closed the dossier with a snap. “Hell, these guys are soloists, all of them. They won’t agree to work together. And even if they did, you can’t even guarantee they’ll do what you want.”

The guy’s smile was pure shark. “That’s why I want you. Thieves I got. What I need is one honest man to keep them together til the job is done.”

~//~

Gerard had thought, as he had checked into the hotel, that he’d be nervous, fretting, unable to settle. Instead, he had sunk beneath the plans and contingencies and found himself right at home. For the first time in forever, the weight in his chest eased – not gone, just…easier to ignore. Just for one night.

A walk away.

He packed his kit calmly, checking the charge levels, wear patterns. Spare consumables. Plain, black, nondescript clothes. Keys to the car.

No identification.

He took a nap, got some actual rest, then checked out again three hours later. His colleagues (not his team, no teamwork, no history, no trust) had been briefed over scrambled VOIP, but he knew he could rely on them to at least show up. He was more worried about how they’d end the job, but he had contingencies for that as well.

He walked down 55th, and turned right onto East, a steady, even pace. Someone fell into step beside him, slightly shorter, dressed in form-fitting combat pants, a tight knitted turtleneck sweater, worn Chucks on his feet.

Gerard didn’t even acknowledge Iero’s presence. He just kept walking.

Bryar fell into step on the next block, and for a second, Gerard smiled as he pictured the three of them walking down the street, an uneven ‘W’ with Iero in the middle.

The crossed the intersection at 53rd and East with the signal, and walked on. The building housing Pierson Aerospace dominated the streetscape. Bryar extended his step, one-two-three, swinging the line around. Gerard caught a glimpse of a third shape step up just beyond Bryar, hoodie and beanie making him a shadow in the night. Gerard looked back up at Pierson Aerospace. Yeah, this would work.

Without saying a word, he turned and entered the building behind them. By the time he entered the elevator, deep inside the lobby, the other three had already vanished.

The empty office on the twenty-second floor was an echoing concrete shell with floor-to-ceiling windows. Gerard set up with economical movements – collapsible table, laptop he’d taken from his bosses (After he’d surrendered the memory to IT. Too bad IT didn’t remember the emergency backups. Gerard was honest, not stupid). The projector was an affectation that had earned him gentle scorn, back in the day, but he preferred it. He didn’t have to squint at tiny pixels on a tiny screen, but instead could take in the whole job like a developing canvas.

He hooked his comm pack to his belt and slipped on the headpiece. “Okay guys, wire in and let’s get this show on the road.”

Toro laughed, high-pitched and tinny through the tiny earpiece. “Wow, whose granny did you mug to get these? No, wait, I remember where I last saw these. In _Bueller’s Day Off_.” He whistled, making Gerard wince and adjust his headset. “Retro, man, groovy.” There was a clatter, a brief burst of static, then Toro’s voice came through as clear as if he was standing in the room. “We’re using mine,” he said flatly. “Bone conduction mikes, state of the art. Here, and don’t mutter curses under your breath, boys and girls. These puppies will hear you.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Okay, Bryar, Iero, radio check.”

He heard a snorted sigh. “Is he always like this?” Bryar growled.

Toro laughed. “Age of the geek, baby. Play with my toys, deal with my noise.”

“One night only, Radioshack,” Bryar replied with calm promise.

“Aww,” Iero giggled down the line. “Look, Gee, the kids are playing.”

“Well, you can all focus on the job. And don’t call me Gee. My friends call me that, and you are not my friend.”

“Snap,” Iero shot back in an atrocious accent. “Well, me and my baby are ready. Wow,” he sighed, “I haven’t used this rig since that job in Venice. Two years and still as pretty as the day she was made.”

Two years. Venice. “The Monet? That was you?”

“Focus, _Gerard_ ,” Toro taunted.

Gerard took a moment to centre himself. “Okay, we work the plan. On my count. In five, four…”

“Shit,” Toro cursed as Bryar snapped “He’s gone.”

Gerard swore as he raced to the window. Iero was a tiny dot, flying down the side of the building like he was Batman on acid.

“And go,” he said, mostly to himself. Game on.

~//~

Iero burned his way past the vibration detectors and slid through the hole like a snake. Gerard turned away from the window and studied the schematics, counting down the paces mentally, hitting zero just as Iero muttered “I’m in,” over the comm.

“Good. Open sesame,” Gerard told him.

“Kazam,” Iero replied. On his schematic, a sequence of doors went from red to green.

“We’re in,” Bryar said a moment later.

“Okay,” Gerard murmured as he paced in front of his projection, casting strange shadows in the lines of light. “How’s security?”

“Just how I like ‘em; big, dumb, and clueless.”

Gerard would have cursed Iero out for his editorializing, but the kid moved quick enough to patch Gerard into the video feed of the control booth. Gerard tapped a command, and brought another image up into projection.

“Okay, you two,” he said to Bryar and Toro. “Run the play.”

“Can I just register my opposition to the football metaphors?” Toro asked.

“No,” Gerard and Bryar snapped in unison. “Here,” Bryar added, the mike picking up their muttered comments as they broke out their equipment.

Gerard studied his wall. “Anyone hear any chatter on the internal frequencies?” he asked, fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach.

“No. Why?”

Gerard looked down the list of names projected on his wall. “Because there are eight guards listed on the duty roster, but I only see four at the post.”

Frank laughed. “The camera placement in this building is shit. They’re probably just out of shot, or moving around.”

Gerard shook his head in the empty room. “Count the haircuts, Iero. One at the desk, three moving, but always the same three, makes the room seem bigger than it is. And schematics have an equipment locker just out of frame, no extra hiding space. Scroll through the cameras, find them for me.”

“Problem?” Bryar growled over the line.

“Checking it now. How’s the door coming?”

Toro’s laugh was light, almost playful. “Ten digit password. Fort Knox was an easier hack.”

“Found em,” Iero cut in. “They’re doing their walk-through an hour early!”

Gerard thought fast. What would make them…movement on one of the feeds caught his attention, and the pieces fell into place. “Basketball, not football. It’s a playoff game tonight, they want to be back in time for tip-off.”

Iero cursed inventively in Italian.

“Shut up and tell me where they are!”

Iero switched back into English mid-stream. “They’re already at the stairwell. Ten seconds til they catch our trail.”

Gerard stared at the schematics. “Squelch ‘em. Nothing gets out.” Mentally, he mapped out the distance. “Bryar, use Toro as bait. Reel them in and clear the zone.”

“Do I look like a fish?” Toro protested. Gerard ignored him, walking step by step through the schematics, keeping time with where he thought the security team was. “Screw this,” Toro muttered viciously. “300K ain’t worth dropping the soap.”

Gerard heard through two sets of comms someone yell “Freeze!” Then there was a series of muffled thumps. He had seen Bryar work a time or two, seen photographs of the aftermath a few times more. His imagination let him fill in the gaps between the sounds, made him want a drink.

A sigh, simple satisfaction in a job well done. “That’s what I do,” Bryar said into the stunned silence.

The computers beeped. Toro was in. Gerard focused on the job at hand. “Okay, back to it. Talk to me,” he ordered.

“Relax, Mr G,” Toro said happily as keys clicked in the background. “We’re in already, and we’re leaving Mother Hubbard’s cupboard bare.”

“Drop the spike.”

“I love it when you talk techie, Mr G.” Gerard rolled his eyes. Obviously, Toro now had a _thing_ with the new nickname and was going to use it every chance he got. Gerard could live with it; this was a one-off, then they’d be out of his life for good. “Okay, let’s roll.”

“Did you give them a virus?” Bryar asked, sounding the most interested he had all night.

“Dude,” Toro chortled happily. “I gave them _every_ virus.”

“Dudes,” Iero cut in, matching Toro’s tone perfectly. “Problem.”

Toro groaned as Bryar snapped, “Big or little?”

“The security guys must have reset the password protocols, they’ve locked down the elevators and all access above us.”

Bryar’s laugh was short and bitter. “And that’s that. Later, kiddies.”

“Hey, hey, _hey_!” Toro yelled, “Don’t forget who’s got the goods here.”

“Or who’s got the exit,” Iero added hotly.

Gerard smiled at his reflection in the darkened glass. “Or the plan that uses all three.” That silenced them, but even over the comms, Gerard could feel their sullen expressions as their patience stretched to its limits. “Give me seven more minutes and I’ll get you out of here to payday. Seven more minutes, following my orders. Think you _professionals_ could manage that for me?” he added sweetly.

It hit them where it hurt. At least, no one retaliated, which was enough for him.

“Get to the elevator, get Iero, get down. We’re going to the burn scam.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Gerard just grabbed his kit and headed for the exit, one ear on the noises filtering through the comms as they prepped. “I hate plan Bs,” Toro said to no one in particular.

Gerard eschewed the elevator for the stairs. “Technically, this is plan G.”

“Do I want to know what plan H involves?”

Gerard burst through the fire door with his shoulder. “Iero and Bryar carrying out your charred corpse.”

Through the comm, he heard Toro swallow. “Let’s stick with plan G. I like things starting with G.” The playfulness left his tone. “Especially if things starting with the letter G get me paid.”

Gerard ignored him and kept walking. The clock was ticking, but he couldn’t run. A man dressed in dark clothes, carrying a heavy bag full of electronics couldn’t run on a street at night, not unless he wanted the attention of the blue and whites. His earpiece crackled with static as he fell out of range.

He beeped his car open from several paces away and slung his kit in the trunk. The engine purred as he swung the car around in a tight U-turn and navigated the intersections back to Pierson Aviation.

Iero was limping out of the doors, Bryar working a suit, tie, and steel-rimmed glasses holding him solicitously by the elbow as Toro, mane of hair tied back over the collar his sombre dark jacket, held open the doors.

The security guard was a dick, didn’t even wait to see where they went. A tiny part of Gerard, the dark part that made him so great at what he used to do, thought that with that security, Pierson deserved to be robbed.

Gerard squelched that little voice, flipped the indicators, and drove the team away.

~//~

Bryar was bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. Gerard kept his hands in his coat pockets, eyes on Toro. “Problem?”

“Nah,” Toro said with a scowl. “Just shitty wifi, cheapass free shit.” He lifted his laptop a little higher, and something beeped. “And there it goes.” He waggled his fingers in the air. “Bye bye, little plans.”

Iero blew a kiss at the sky. “Go make me lots of pretty money!”

Gerard didn’t need to look to know that Bryar was rolling his eyes. “You’ll be paid within twenty-four hours, as specified in the original agreement, okay?” He tugged his coat tighter around himself as defence against the early morning chill.

“Cool,” Toro agreed, snapping his laptop shut. “But come on, you’ve got to admit, that was awesome, we rocked so hardcore back there!” He held up his hand.

Gerard, Bryar, and Iero just stared.

“Come on, guys, don’t leave a brother hanging.”

Bryar shook his head. “We’re not brothers.” He turned to Gerard. “We done here?”

Gerard nodded. “We’re done.”

Iero stepped up, planting himself right in Gerard’s way. “Okay. But before you go back to your regular, dull, legally compliant life _Gee_ ,” he smirked. “Tell me the truth. Didn’t you have at least a little bit of fun being the black king instead of the white knight?”

Gerard smiled back, showing teeth. “The king is the weakest piece on the board.” He look around the group, nodded once, turned, and walked away.

~//~

Gerard didn’t remember much after that. There was the hotel minibar, and that friendly bottle in a brown paper bag that followed him home. Then blissful oblivion until the braying of his phone jerked him out of unconsciousness.

He considered ignoring it, but the damn thing just kept ringing. Wearily, he reached through the pile of tiny bottles until his fingers closed over the device.

Flipping it open, he laid his head back down on the pillow. “What?” he snapped.

“You _screwed me_!” Dubenich’s voice was loud and harsh and painful through the tinny little speaker. “I don’t have my designs.” He sounded close to panicking.

Gerard closed his eyes and massaged his aching temples with his free hand. “I saw the designs go out…” he began.

“I don’t know what you saw,” the other man cut in, “But I got nothing.”

He wanted to laugh. “They’re thieves. By definition, they steal. This was always a risk.”

“That I covered by hiring _you_ to safeguard my interests. I’m not paying til the job is done. I’m freezing the payments right now.”

Gerard sighed. Things could get ugly fast if the money didn’t show. “Okay, okay, I’ll come by your office, we’ll sort things out-”

“No, no, no,” Dubenich cut him off again. Gerard was rapidly tiring of this guy’s verbal bullying. “Do not show your sorry face around here; people might remember you. No, we have a facility, a hangar outside the city. I’ll text you the address and meet you there in one hour, and you can tell me how you are planning to _fix your mess_.”

Gerard flinched as the phone beeped and disconnected the call. He felt like just rolling over and going back to sleep, but the thought of the wrath of Iero, Toro and Bryar turning on him forced him out of bed. His phone beeped the arrival of a text message as he found his pants. Gerard sighed, gathered his things, and headed for the door.

He wasn’t coming back. They’d either get paid or they wouldn’t. Either way, after this, he was disappearing down a nice dark hole and never coming back.

~//~

The hangar was deserted, no signs of life outside. Inside, the air smelt of dust and neglect. Moving on silent feet over the cracked concrete floor, Gerard homed in on the sounds of an argument.

Toro was standing with a gun on Bryar. Gerard rolled his eyes. That was a quick way to a shallow grave. “Hey,” he called out, cutting through their back-and-forth. “Did either of you do it?”

“No,” Toro spat.

Bryar snorted. “Hell no. This was supposed to be a gig-for-hire, never to see you guys again. That wouldn’t work if we didn’t get our money.”

Gerard moved closer, careful to keep his hands in plain sight. “Well, something went wrong, and you’re looking pretty calm for a guy with a gun pointed at him.”

Bryar shrugged. “Safety’s on.”

Toro made the classic newbie mistake of trying to look rather than feel the catch, and despite the throbbing hangover, it was easy for Gerard to just to snatch it out of his hand.

Toro looked more like a repentant puppy than a world class thief. Gerard just thumbed the catch and the magazine clattered on the ground. Bryar was watching him carefully. The man probably wasn’t carrying – why would he need to, when he knew at least ten ways to kill you with your own pinkie finger.

Bryar tilted his head to look over Gerard’s shoulder just as Gerard heard the scraping of metal on stone. “I have not been paid,” Iero said calmly. “I was going to buy my sainted mother a very nice present with that money, and now I can’t.” He moved like a ghost to stand between Toro and Bryar, directly opposite Gerard. He held a switchblade knife down by his side like a professional. “That makes me emo. Maybe I should start cutting.” He pinned Gerard with a glare and raised an eyebrow. “Who first?”

Gerard smiled at Iero. “Okay, let’s get this straight. Our employer didn’t get the goods. So we’re not getting paid.”

“Oh, we’re getting paid,” Iero promised as he held the knife up by his face, elbow resting on his crossed arm. “I’d just prefer unmarked bills to a pound of flesh. Less messy.”

Bryar smirked. Gerard’s stomach roiled and threatened to make a break for it. He scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Come on, man,” Toro said. “Global economy, capitalism rules. We did the job.”

“This was meant to be a walkway,” Bryar added.

The pieces oozed out of the fog of his mind and began to slot into place. Gerard couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of his throat. “You’re all here,” he huffed. “Because you didn’t get paid. That’s it. That’s the one thing that could bring you back together.” His mind was racing ahead, working out contingencies and probabilities as fast as his sluggish thoughts would allow. The laughter died. “All together, alone, in one place, where no one can see.”

Iero got there first, and was already running before Toro gasped. Bryar grabbed Gerard’s arm as he passed, pushing him into a run. They fell into a ragged line as they sprinted for the loading dock, the blue sky outside. Gerard heard a stumble, someone curse, Bryar’s grunt. Gerard dove for the door mechanism, hit the dirty red button as Bryar stumbled past, half-carrying Toro with him.

Gerard looked back. Sobriety hit him a split second before the shockwave of the explosion knocked him into pain-free unconscious.

~//~

The pain came back in slow, lazy waves, rolling Gerard awake. He blinked, tried to stretch, and sat bolt upright. The handcuff on his left wrist jangled discordantly against the bed railing.

“And I thought I didn’t like hospitals,” Bryar grumbled from his chair in the corner. He raised his bound wrist as far as the cuffs would allow, testing the give. “He’s awake,” he added in a slightly louder voice.

“About fucking time!” Iero’s voice echoed eerily, and it took Gerard a moment to home in on a non-descript ventilation duct set into the wall near his bed.

Gerard winced at the pounding in his temples. “Catch me up.”

Bryar shrugged. “Local cops pulled up just as we were waking up.” He opened his fist to reveal ink-stained fingers. “They took our prints. Man, if they run us through any of the bigger databases, we’re screwed.”

Gerard nodded. “Yeah, you’re all on the felon’s databases, aren’t you?”

“Youthful indiscretions,” Toro protested. “If they run it through state, which is what their little manual says they should do,” he added, “It’ll take them about thirty minutes to get our records.”

Bryar growled softly. “They printed us twenty minutes ago.” He sat forward in his chair, testing the lift and balance. “Listen, if you call in the smokeys, I can take them.”

“Hey,” Iero protested, loud enough to set off Gerard’s headache again. “That’ll bring in reinforcements and screw up my exit. And that’ll make me cranky at you, Bryar.”

“And I’m still cuffed to this bed,” Toro added.

“Quiet!” Gerard snapped. “We all need to get out of here –” he _really_ needed to get out of here, the smells and the noises were starting to get to him. “So we’re all getting out. First, Iero, I need a phone.”

There was a long pause. “I don’t trust these guys.”

Of course he didn’t. “Can you trust me?”

A soft snicker echoed through the ventilation shaft. “Only if I can call you Gee. I’m from Jersey, we don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have a nickname.”

Gerard had to laugh, if only at the absurdity of it all. “I can live with Gee if you can get me a phone in the next two minutes.”

Iero almost cackled. “Done. And Bryar..?”

Bryar was sitting back, eyes closed. “Bryar is from Chicago, where we bury people with stupid nicknames.”

“Okay…Bob.” Gerard was watching, saw Bryar’s eyes fly open. He wondered how Iero had gotten Bryar’s first name. “Nice manly name, Bob. Bob, I need you not to kill anyone for a bit, okay? And Ray, stand back.”

There was a disgusting noise, amplified by Ray’s little shriek of disgust. Gerard tried to manoeuvre so he was sitting upright more comfortably. “I think he enjoyed that a little too much,” he observed.

Bryar rolled his eyes. “Small sneaky dudes. Never trust them.” He shrugged awkwardly at Gerard’s questioning look. “But I’ll trust you to keep him in line long enough to get us out of here. After all, you’re our token good guy. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

They settled back into an easy silence, listening as first the guard, then the medical teams came to tend to whatever chaos Iero had created.

Two minutes later, he heard the click of the door, followed by a now-familiar Iero giggle. “Got an iPhone and a cell. Man, doctors really like their toys.”

Gerard nodded. “That’s what I’m counting on. Toro, I need you to send a fax. Iero, pass us the standard cell.”

The handcuffs bit into his wrist as he stretched out and caught the little phone as it fell out of the vents. He tossed it to Bryar. “They’re expecting the state police to call. Let’s send them up the line. Toro, what have you got.”

“FBI,” Toro called back. “Just getting a nice mugshot.”

Gerard nodded at Bryar, who was already scrolling the phone’s contact lists. “Hi, yes, this is Lieutenant Davison, state police. I’m returning a call from your local…yes, I’ll hold, thank you ma’am.” He smiled at Gerard. “Hello, yes son, Lieutenant Davison here, we just got those prints you sent through. Thing is, they’re sending up all kinds of red flags. I’ve got someone from the FBI down in Washington on the line, wants to talk to you.”

Gerard caught the phone one-handed. “Sheriff, this is Deputy Director Banner. We’ve just heard that you’ve stumbled onto one of our operations. What I am about to tell you is classified – can I count on your discretion?” Even over the phone, Gerard could practically hear the man’s chest inflate with pride. Flattery got you pretty far, but pretending to let people in on secrets got you everywhere. “One of the suspects you’ve arrested is actually our man, he’s been undercover for two years, trying to gather evidence on the….” Shit, names were always the hard part. “Rorschach Syndicate. We’re faxing you the details of our agent now, so you know what’s going on.”

In the background, he could hear a whispered conversation, presumably with a deputy. The Sheriff came back on the line. “Yessir, it just arrived.”

“Good,” Gerard said, studying the links of his handcuffs. “Now here’s what I need you to do…”

He barely had time to hang up and hide the phone before on of the local policemen came through the door. “You’re being transferred,” he announced. “No funny business.”

“Aww,” Bob said, deadpan. “But I have this brilliant knock-knock joke.”

The distraction gave Gerard just enough time to drop the phone in the deputy’s pocket. Then they were being led outside to where a blue and white was waiting in the paramedics’ bay. Toro was standing by it, arms crossed. Through the back window, Gerard could just make out Iero already on the back seat.

Toro started pushing Bryar into the back seat as the deputy escorted Gerard around to the other door. As Toro slid into the driver’s seat, Gerard risked looking back. A nurse was talking to the Sheriff, who was looking between her and the car in confusion.

“Step on it Toro. We’ll need to ditch this ride soon.”

“Somewhere where they steal tires,” Iero added, bouncing up and down in the middle seat. Bryar reached across and lazily slapped a hand into Iero’s chest, pushing him to sit still.

Gerard was very grateful.

~//~

Iero had hotwired their new ride before Gerard had even slithered out of the old one. Toro took the wheel again and drove like he knew where he was going. He parked in an open lot and led them down three blocks and up a flight of stairs to a converted warehouse loft with pop art prints on the walls and a large leather sofa set around one of the biggest flat screens Gerard had ever seen.

“Whose place is this?” Bryar asked as he stalked across the open space, checking out the exits and the pool table.

“Mine. Hey, don’t look so shocked. Age of the geek and computerized inventory.” Toro dropped down off the single step that surrounded the central pit that was the focus of the room, and made a beeline for a long desk festooned with monitors, cables, and serious looking boxes with blinking lights. “Four first class tickets to anywhere but here, coming up. If there is anywhere in the world Carmen is already looking for you, speak now or go where I send you.”

“Not too far,” Bryar said. “I don’t want to long-haul when it comes time to return and beat Dubenich into his next reincarnation.”

Iero rolled his eyes. “Do me a favour and toss me his wallet before you do that. We still haven’t been paid, remember?”

Bryar stared at him. “The guy tried to kill us and you want the money?”

Iero smiled dreamily. “Trying to kill us was business. Not paying us was just rude.”

“Hey,” Toro cut in before Bryar could retaliate. “Check this out.” He sat back as Gerard leaned in to get a better look at the screen. “I set my little web bots up to check out Dubenich’s story…”

“To see if he should be paying you more,” Gerard cut in.

Toro smiled and didn’t deny it. “Anyway, turns out his story was half-true. Check it.” Gerard let his eyes flit over the screens as Toro called up news reports and headlines of Pierson Aerospace and the theft of their R+D servers. “I’ve taken a look at the server logs we took. The 1994, '95 stuff is waaaay down the register. They had no reason to fake it.”

“So,” Iero said with an explosive sigh. “We didn’t steal it back, we just stole it. Why didn’t he just ask us to do that in the first place, it wouldn’t have made any difference to the job.”

Gerard stood up and tried to think. His headache was down to a dull roar, niggling at the base of his skull. “You’d have charged more, for one. Two, you’d have demanded to be paid up front. You’d have been on edge for the double cross.” He turned to look at each of them in turn. “This way, you didn’t see a player. You saw a mark. He ran game on you.”

Bryar closed his eyes in mute frustration and cursed briefly with bitter venom.

Toro’s printer whined and spat out four sheets of paper. “Whatever. Here’s our ticket out of here. London, Tokyo, Sydney and…” he smirked at Bryar. “Mexico City. Close enough?” Bryar snatched the sheet out of his hands with a glower.

Toro just smirked and tapped Gerard’s shoulder with the last piece of paper. “And the boss man gets Sydney. Gerard?”

Gerard stared at the face of their would-be murderer, pasted across the screen. “He’s the perfect mark,” he said softly to no-one in particular.

“What?”

Gerard turned, the plan already beginning to crystallize in his mind. “He’s the perfect mark,” he repeated. “He thinks he’s smart, streetwise, running the game, but he’s bound to the company by hoops of steel. He damn near told me so himself, he’s got a shareholders meeting coming up. He has no manoeuvrability, everything to loose. He’s the perfect mark.”

Bryar took a step closer. “You want to run a scam on the guy who just tried to kill us?”

Gerard nodded at the e-ticket in Bryar’s hand. “If we ease back, he’s off the hook. We’ve got to keep the heat up high if we’re going to get you your payback.”

Iero grinned. “You’re mixing your metaphors, Gee.”

Gerard shrugged. “Screw metaphor. Let’s go after the guy with the money.” He studied their faces, reading their reactions. Toro was nodding and Iero was grinning, but Bryar still looked unconvinced. “Okay, let me put it this way. If this doesn’t work, you can go pound the crap out of him and I’ll be your alibi.”

Bryar smiled. “Win-win, my favourite odds. Okay, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Toro said quickly.

“Me three, Gee!” Iero added. “Ooh, that rhymes.” He dodged Toro’s half-hearted swipe. “What first?”

“First,” Gerard said, heading for the door. “We need to fetch Mikey.”

“Who?” they asked in stereo.

Gerard smiled tightly and kept walking. He’d let Mikey explain that.


	2. Chapter 2

The theatre was the antithesis of packed. Gerard led the grumbling band through the shadows along the dingy back wall. One guy in the back row was snoring, radiating cheap wine fumes so strongly they were almost visible. A handful of other people were scattered around, most looking bored. Gerard made a critic in the fourth row, and frowned.

Mikey and critics never ended well.

“Come, you spirits…” Gerard smiled as Mikey walked onto stage, already into his speech. He felt the three thieves still as, on stage, Mikey kept his eyes on the footlights and mumbled his way through the monologue.

“Holy…” Bryar breathed.

“What is that?” Iero concurred.

“Is he reading Vogon poetry?” Toro added. He adopted a hurt expression at the sideways look the others shot him. “Did I forget to mention ‘geek’?”

Gerard shushed them, riveted by the performance.

Bryar nudged him in the ribs. “Dude, please tell me this guy is a…a secret ninja or something?”

Iero was peeking out at the stage from between his fingers. “Because he as sure as hell isn’t an actor.”

Gerard smiled, clapping his applause as the scene ended. “This isn’t his preferred stage.” The house lights came up, and Bryar turned for the exit. Gerard reached out and touched Iero’s arm. “Hey, do you think you can make the guy in the fourth row’s notebook disappear?”

“Easy. Why?” Iero’s fingers were already twitching.

“Consider it a gesture of welcome to your new colleague. We’ll meet you at the stage door.”

Somehow, Iero beat them all there. He was standing under a lamppost, one foot braced back against the pole as he flipped through the pages. “Harsh, harsh, harsh,” he muttered as he snapped the book closed and tossed it at Gerard. “But all true, man.”

“Do we get a say at all?” Bryar asked. “Because I say no, no, and hell no.”

“Dubenich knows us,” Gerard said, dumping the notebook in the gutter. “We need a lure. Someone we can trust.”

“And we can trust this guy?” Toro asked as the stage door screeched open.

“I trust him,” Gerard said flatly. He started clapping as he walked towards Mikey. “Bravo,” he called as he got close.

Mikey’s head jerked up in surprised, but his eyes softened as he saw Gerard. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Gerard replied warmly.

Mikey’s eyes hardened as the other three filled the alley. “You checking up on me?” he almost spat. “Because you know I promised Ma I’d be a good honest citizen, just like you.”

Gerard smirked. “Well, I’m not any more. So I guess you don’t have to be either.”

Mikey breathed out slowly. “Seriously, Gee?”

Gerard nodded. “And we need you, Mikey.”

Iero snorted. “Okay, firstly, this is a one-off, so there’s no ‘we.’” He moved to stand like the point of a triangle, an equal distance from both of them. “And secondly,” he made a show of looking Mikey up and down. “I’m trusting you, _Gee_ ,” he said, emphasising the name. “Because you’ve done alright so far, and I think you can get me my money. Making money damn near makes us Jersey family.” He nodded at Mikey. “Give me one reason why I should trust this guy?”

_**Paris – Seven Years Ago** _

_Mikey worked quickly, deftly guiding the knife through the gap in the frame, shedding anything that would prevent him from rolling up the canvases and delivering them to the highest bidder. He knew he didn’t have much time._

_The door thudded, bouncing off the wall as it was kicked in. “Freeze!”_

_The gun was already in his hand and he was squeezing the trigger before he had identified who it was._

_Gerard flinched as the tiny round buried itself in the soft flesh of his shoulder. Mikey turned to run, but had only taken a step when a burning pain shot through the fleshy part of his upper leg._

_Mikey staggered, slumping against the mantelpiece and holding on to keep from falling to the ground. He stared in shock as Gerard dragged himself to the uncomfortable hotel chair and collapsed into it._

_“You shot me, you bastard,” Mikey breathed, going pale as shock hit him. “Ma is going to **murder** you for this.”_

_Gerard laughed, breathy and pained. “Tell on me and I’ll tell her you started it.” He looked over through the door into the hallway at the sound of voices coming closer, then at the big bay window, thrown open to the balmy Parisian night. He sighed. “Can you manage the balcony?”_

_Mikey nodded, already pulling himself towards it._

_“And Mikey? Leave the Matisse. And the gun.”_

_Mikey gratefully put it down on the mantelpiece. “See you at Thanksgiving?”_

_Gerard made a shooing gesture. “Of course. Now, go before I have to tell Ma I arrested my baby brother **again**.” _

Gerard hid his smirk as Bryar, Iero, and Toro just stared. Mikey looked smug. “You’ve really come over to the Dark Side? You always had it in you, Gee. I guess you just needed a little push.”

Gerard shrugged, acknowledging the history between them that had brought them to this point. “What I need is you. You in?”

Mikey nodded. “What are brothers for?”

Gerard clapped his hands together and turned to take them all in at once. “Okay, let’s go break the law just one more time.”

~//~

“Gentlemen” Toro said with a flourish. “May I present Victor Dubenich, executive VP of new technology development at Bering Aerospace.” On screen, still photos flickered past, almost creating the illusion of movement as Dubenich approached his car.

Gerard leaned against the back of the large couch, his arm brushing Mikey’s hair. “Do I want to know where the surveillance photos came from?”

Toro grinned, fingers flexed over a wireless keyboard. “Probably not.” He frowned as Bryar clambered over the back of his leather sofa, scuffing the fine material. “Trust fund baby,” he continued coldly. “MBA from Yale, yada yada yada.”

“Victor,” Mikey repeated, rolling the name around his mouth. “Been a long time since I last met a Victor.”

Bryar took a swig from his beer. “Vietnam,” he said thoughtfully. “Town called Ben Hau Sai.”

Mikey twitched his pen between his fingers. “Chinese border. Do I want to know what you were doing there?”

Bryar gave Mikey a long, appraising look. “That’s right. Do I want to know how you know that?”

Gerard smiled and gave Toro a little nod to continue.

“Right,” Toro said reaching out for the bowl of popcorn Bryar had brought with him. “Now, Dubenich handles a lot of sensitive stuff, government contracts, classified research, things like that.”

Iero was sitting cross-legged on the far arm of the couch. “Mmm, classified. I smell an in.”

Toro shook his head. “Don’t think so. He seems more interested in the commercial airline business.”

“Like the stuff we stole?” Gerard asked. Toro nodded, and Gerard took a long sip of his coffee. “Ray,” he asked in a calm friendly voice. “Dubenich explicitly asked you not to make any copies of the files.”

Ray met his eyes. “Of course. I gave my word.”

Gerard smiled. “Show me your copies.”

Toro laughed as the schematics flickered up on screen.

“You gave your word, huh?” Iero asked dryly.

“We didn’t pinkie swear, so it didn’t count,” Toro shot back.

Gerard rose to his feet as Iero giggled, his eyes tracking the thin pale lines of the schematics.

“Wow,” Bryar said deadpan. “It’s an airplane. From the servers of an aerospace company, how shocking.”

Gerard shook his head. “It’s a short haul domestic airliner, usually one hour flights. Fastest growing segment of the industry…” he whistled under his breath. “Nice carbon nose, titanium wrap, three to one. This is a very state of the art bird.” He looked down at their stares. “You tend to pick things up in the job.”

Iero burst out into fresh giggles.

Bryar slapped Iero’s shoulder to shut him up as Toro tapped out a brief command on the keyboard. “Look what else I found. Dubenich and Pierson have been going toe to toe for five years now to own an industry that’s worth more than eleventy billion.”

“Pierson won the race,” Bryar said.

“So Dubenich took a short cut,” Iero finished. “Us.”

Gerard nodded. Mikey shifted slightly on the couch, eyes fierce and bright behind his glasses. “Gee?”

“Nigerians,” Gerard said slowly. “Yeah, Nigerians will do nicely.” Nigerians would also need some lead time. He turned and headed for the back room to make a call.

Behind him, he could feel Mikey’s smirk. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s always been like that. Honest.”

~//~

“I’ve got this, Gee,” Mikey said. Even with the accent already in place, Gerard could hear the little frustrated sigh. “It’s why you came to get me, isn’t it? Now get on the main channel and get this thing moving.” He hung up before Gerard could reply.

Gerard slipped the phone back into his pocket and pulled the headset up from where it was hanging around his neck. “Okay, everyone, places.”

“Ready,” Iero reported.

“Ditto,” Bryar added. “And for the record, polyester ties blow.”

Toro took a swing from a half-empty bottle of Jolt. “Suck it up and stay in character. Hey, Mikey, with us?”

“Uh-huh,” Mikey murmured.

Toro tapped out some commands, and one of the screens of his desk blossomed to reveal the monitor feed from the security camera in the lobby of Bering Aerospace. Gerard clutched his cup of coffee to keep his hands occupied as Mikey walked across the camera’s field of view and disappeared into the elevator. He glanced at the clock. Ten to nine.

“Okay, there aren’t any cameras on the upper floors,” Toro said as he brought up layers of programs and tools. He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Unless, of course, Dubenich makes Mikey in the first ten seconds, in which case this will all be for nothing.”

Gerard didn’t reply, waiting for Mikey to set the ball rolling. “Adam Gunschott to see Mr Dubenich,” Mikey said at last to some unseen receptionist, flattening the vowels hard. “I have an appointment.”

Toro frowned. Gerard laid his hand on Toro’s shoulder in silent warning. Toro’s frown deepened, but he went off back to the security cameras. “There’s our guy,” he said after a long minute. “Heading up now.”

Gerard sipped his coffee and waited.

“Mr Dubenich!” Wherever Mikey was waiting was close enough to the secretary that his microphone could pick up her voice. “Good morning sir, your nine am is here.”

“My nine…” Dubenich’s voice was fainter, but still distinct.

“Mr Dubenich,” Mikey said. “Adam Gunschott, African Commercial Transport and Trade Initiative.” Gerard could almost see that smile, the one he had watched develop as Mikey had grown into his talents. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” Dubenich scrambled. “What can I…?”

“I have been sent to investigate opportunities for infrastructure development and renewal in Afrika,” Mikey rolled on, keeping up the momentum, making Dubenich scramble to keep up. “Develop jobs, new trade agreements. Try to keep the graft and stealing manageable, so we can compete on a world stage.”

Toro was shaking his head. “How is he not sucking? He was…truly awful on stage.”

Gerard smiled. “Every stage, every writer, every director, they all asked him to fake it for the sake of being fake. But this is where he shines, when he has a reason to sell the part.” He felt a sudden surge of pride, for once unfettered by rules and guilt. “My brother is the best actor you’ll ever see…when he’s breaking the law.”

“Well,” Dubenich was saying slowly. “You’ve certainly picked the unattainable dream.”

Mikey laughed, and even his laugh was on-accent. Toro whistled, low and quiet. “Afrika is a land of opportunity – we can’t fall any further, the only way is up. The consortium I represent likes big dreams. They have big rewards.”

“And big risk,” Dubenich shot back.

There was a faint snicker down the line. “Let’s go talk somewhere a little less formal, ey?”

“Said the spider to the fly,” Iero commented.

“Shut up and stand by for your cue, Frank,” Gerard snapped. This was where things started getting complicated. “Toro…”

He clicked his mouse. “Hello blue screen of death.”

They didn’t have a bug in Dubenich’s outer office, so Gerard had to wait until he heard Frank answer the patched phone. “Hello, IT,” he cooed in a truly stupid accent.

Fortunately, the secretary was too stressed to notice. “Yeah, this is Lucy up in Victor Dubenich’s office. My computer just crashed.”

“Aww!” Gerard knew enough about Iero to know the bastard was trying not to snicker. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

Toro nudged Gerard with his elbow. “I gave him that line.”

Gerard mimed clapping very slowly, and Toro turned back to his screens.

“We’ve actually got someone on your floor already, I’ll send him straight over.”

“Thank you,” she snapped, frustration audible.

Gerard nodded. “Okay Bryar, you’re up.”

Toro tapped his fist to his chest in a gesture of solidarity. “Geek out, bro.”

Gerard counted to ten. “Hi,” he heard Bryar say. “Somebody call IT?”

He leant over Toro. “Keep an ear on them, and give me just Mikey.” He was starting to get a feel for the various screens, and watched as Toro patched Mikey’s comm to his, keeping the other conversations on the speakers but down low so Gerard could concentrate on the main game.

“…investors who are looking to start an airline for short haul flights in Afrika,” Mikey was saying.

“Out of Jo’burg?” Dubenich asked.

“He’s testing you,” Gerard said. “Reel him back.”

Mikey laughed lightly, a true professional bureaucrat’s laugh. “Oh, we want out of the centres, too much competition already. Places like Bloemfontein, or even better, Akure. We’re focused on future growth markets like Nigeria.” He phrased it halfway to a question, like he was testing Dubenich back. Gerard nodded along.

“Yeah,” Dubenich said with a little laugh. “But I still have nightmares about landing in Lagos. That runway was little more than a dirt track...”

“Shiny new airplanes, Mr Dubenich. They make people feel more comfortable, will give us the customers we need to finance rebuilding infrastructure.”

“Huh. I…I don’t recall saying anything about new airplanes, shiny or otherwise.”

“Victor,” Mikey all but purred in his Afrikaans accent. “Please, give me a little credit. Both you and your chief engineer are addressing your shareholders at the next meeting. That only happens when you have something to announce.” Gerard could only imagine the body language that accompanied the pause. “I’ve done my homework, Victor.” His voice dropped to little more than a whisper, low and confiding. “I find you fascinating. I could learn… a lot from your example.”

“Damn,” Toro sighed. “He keeps that up and he’s gonna make me start asking some seriously uncomfortable questions about my sexuality.”

Gerard swiped him lightly over the back of the head. “How’re Iero and Bryar?”

“Cruising. Turns out Lucy the secretary likes them dorky.”

“Let me know when Iero’s in,” he ordered, one ear on Mikey’s patter.

“He’s dropping now. And remind me to have stern words with Bryar when this is over.” He clicked a button and pulled the microphone on his desk closer to his mouth. “Computer guys can talk to woman about more than network configs, Bryar. Just FYI.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and gestured for Toro to bring up that conversation. “…love dressing up like a Klingon and going to conventions…” Bryar was saying, and Toro’s eyes bugged out.

Gerard slapped his hand over Toro’s mouth. “Iero?”

“Done,” Frank snapped quietly. “Leaving now.”

Gerard pulled Toro’s head back to rest on his chest. “Job now, geek versus nerd battle later. Got it?” Toro nodded. “Good, get me back to Mikey and help get Iero and Bryar out of there.”

“….we bring out a new product,” Dubenich was saying. “You can order as many as you like.”

“Ach,” Mikey scoffed. “You misunderstand me. We want to build them in Afrika, fly them in Afrika, sell them around the world.”

This made Dubenich laugh. “Africa has that kind of infrastructure?”

Gerard could hear Mikey smirk. “We can raise the capital without problem, _if_ we can guarantee the contract.”

There was a long pause. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Gunschott, but I don’t think there’s much I can do for you.”

Toro swore under his breath. “Do we have a Plan B that doesn’t involve any of us dying?”

Gerard shushed him and waited. “I understand,” Mikey said slowly. “It’s okay, I have an appointment with Pierson this afternoon anyway…”

Everything froze, hung on the moment.

“Pierson?” Dubenich stuttered.

“Yes. As I said, Mr Dubenich, I’ve done my homework. They have a reputation for innovation, outside-the-box thinking, long-term investment. Yes,” he drawled. “It’s probably the better fit.”

Dubenich laughed. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Adam?”

“Do you really need to ask, Victor?” Mikey’s voice was a siren’s call. “Hundreds of millions of dollars in new contracts. The PR value of Afrikan towns and cities revitalized by the new factories, all displaying the Bering Aerospace logo. And your foot in the door of the largest new market of the century. All right here.”

“Alright,” Dubenich cried teasingly. “Alright, I’ll take the meeting.”

Toro’s fist pumped into the air, narrowly missing Gerard’s head.

“I’ll have my people call yours. Say, day after tomorrow?”

Gerard put down his cup of coffee and shook Toro’s hand. “Okay guys,” he said into his headset. “Mikey’s got us a meeting. Let’s set it up.”

~//~

Iero and Bryar made it back half an hour later. Toro made a grabby gesture at the slim portable drive in Iero’s hands.

“Uh-uh,” Iero said, holding it above his head. “What’s the magic word?”

Bryar plucked it out of Iero’s hands as he passed, and tossed it to Toro. “Gimme?”

Iero shrugged and grinned. “That’ll work. What’s to eat in this place? I’m starving.”

Mikey came in twenty minutes later, already back in his usual hoodie and jeans. He bowed as the others gave him an impromptu round of applause, a slight blush staining his pale cheeks.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. Bryar volunteered to do the takeout run, merely rolling his eyes when Iero bounced up to go with him. They came back with steaming carry out and two six packs. The food evaporated, Toro eating mindlessly as he stared, enthralled, at the data on his screens.

Mikey took care of the garbage, and Iero’s feet were on the table as soon as Mikey had cleared a space for them. He belched happily and stretched out with an outdated copy of _TV Guide_.

Bryar nudged Gerard and nodded meaningfully towards the pool table. Gerard grinned. “Rack ‘em up, Bryar.”

Bryar shrugged. “Call me Bob,” he offered quietly before heading over to find the triangle. Gerard blinked and glanced over at Iero, whose expression was hidden by the magazine he was resolutely pretending to read.

Bob took the break shot as Gerard fetched two more beers from the fridge and waved off Mikey’s quick, sharp look of inquiry. He traded a bottle for the cue, and considered the break.

“You look better,” Bob said quietly. “Since we first met.”

Gerard shrugged. “Stripes,” he said instead, sending the white ball skidding across the felt.

Bob watched the shot ricochet around the table. “I guess it’s to be expected. You’re back in the game, being the white knight.” He leaned forward slightly. “The hero. Saving people from the bad guys. Dubenich is screwing with people, it’s nice and clean and straightforward. Unlike…” he paused, took a swig from his beer. “Listen, I know you probably don’t want to hear it, especially from the likes of me, but I am sorry about what happened to her.”

Gerard leaned against the table, eyes on a tiny scuff in the felt. “You don’t know…”

Bryar snorted mirthlessly. “Dude, someone like you, the things you’ve done? We may have been on opposite sides before, but you…well, you’re like a freaking rock star of the chase. And it’s not that big a world. Everyone knows – they know how the company screwed you over. I mean, how the fuck can they justify that shit, and to a little girl?”

For a split second, Gerard was back at that window in ICU, watching Elena struggle for breath, her tiny fingers clenched into a fist as she fought her sickness with everything she had. “Experimental treatment,” he said hoarsely. “They said it was experimental, that…they couldn’t justify the cost without an expectation on return.”

Bryar swore under his breath. “Bastards. You know…” He took a shot, sinking the five. “You may not like me, or what I do, or the fact that I’m an unrepentant criminal. And once this job is through, I’m going to walk away. But if you get a pot-shot at those bastards and need a wingman…”

“Bob,” Gerard cut him off. “We may be on a first name basis now, but that doesn’t make us friends.”

Bryar’s smile was guarded and knowing. “Of course.” He put down the cue and picked up his beer. “Incoming.”

Gerard watched him drop down onto the sofa opposite Iero as Mikey came to stand by his side. “Gee,” Mikey said flatly. “Thought you could use an interruption.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said noncommittally.

“Okay, then can you help me with this?” He held up the tiny earpiece that Toro had issued.

Gerard had to concentrate so as not to drop the delicate piece of electronics. It felt strangely familiar to be this close to someone else again. He hadn’t wanted to be near anyone after…

“I was at the funeral, Gee,” Mikey said softly. Gerard froze. “I was there, ready if you needed me. But you looked like you needed space for a while.”

Gerard unfroze, and tried not to let his fingers shake as he smoothed the earpiece into position. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered.

Mikey turned and caught Gerard’s wrist. “And now you don’t.” It was a statement of reality. His eyes studied Gerard’s face. “You didn’t need the excuse, you know that, right?”

For a split second, Gerard considered pretending he didn’t understand what Mikey was referring to. “I know. I was going to come find you and…”

Mikey dropped his wrist and held up one long finger between them. “You can’t lie to me, Gee.” He sounded almost amused. “Don’t even try.” He turned and walked away.

Gerard could feel the other three staring. Shaking his head, he walked the other way.

~//~

Gerard sent Toro to order as he settled himself into one of the spindly metal café chairs that overlooked the plaza. He tugged his jacket tighter around his shoulders and scooped up a discarded newspaper. Toro returned with two large steaming paper cups, and fussed for a moment with the little sachets of sugar before he put the cup to one side and opened his laptop.

Gerard stirred his coffee, black and strong, and watched as two town cars pulled up, one after the other, and disgorged a gaggle of dark-skinned men in well-cut suits. “Mikey,” Gerard said, tilting his head slightly towards Toro like they were the two chatting. “Nigerians on their way.”

“I see them.” Through the glass, Gerard could make out the shadow of his brother, his walk as distinctive as a fingerprint, as he converged on their guests and led them back towards the elevator bank.

“Bryar? Iero?”

“Good to go here,” Bryar reported.

Iero laughed softly. “I’m just hanging around waiting for the go, Gee.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Gerard saw Toro wrinkle his nose at the odd phrasing. He chose to ignore it. “Bryar, do you have visual?”

There was a long pause. “Confirmed. Mikey’s showing them in now.”

Toro nudged Gerard’s arm, and he followed Toro’s meaningful look. “Mikey, Dubenich is here.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “We’re not ready,” Mikey said, low and urgent.

“He’s not going to just wait in the lobby,” Gerard shot back. “He’s going to come looking whether you’re ready or not!”

“Dude,” Toro breathed. “If he tries the directory, we’re screwed.”

Over the headpiece, Gerard could hear Mikey breathlessly settling his guests. “Heading to the lift now. Shit, come on, come on…”

Dubenich was through the outer doors. This could all fall apart in moments…

“Guys, there’s no elevator.”

Gerard was on his feet, Mikey’s distress propelling him into action. “I’ll buy you some time. Iero, get Mikey to the lobby in the next ten seconds.”

“Woo-hoo,” Iero crowed. “Mikey, stair doors now!”

Gerard ignored him, his hand slipping into the inner pocket of his long coat. The collapsible baton snicked as it extended and locked. Gerard looked down the row of cars. All late model. Perfect.

The sound of shattering glass was all but drowned out by the shriek of the alarm. A few people turned to look, but this was a big city. One alarm wasn’t too out of place.

A minivan. Good. Gerard hated minivans. This one’s alarm was tied to the horn, adding a basso note to the cacophony. The third car started shrieking like a siren. By now, people were pouring out of the nearest buildings.

That ought to work. “Mikey?” he asked, collapsing the baton as he walked away.

Mikey sounded out of breath. “I…I _hate_ you. You and Iero, the freak…”

Gerard bit his lip. “Dubenich, Mikey,” he said soothingly. “Where’s Dubenich?” He nodded to Toro, gestured that he should stay put.

“Mr Dubenich,” Mikey said, accent falling into place around his deep breaths. “Welcome, this way please.”

“Are you okay, Adam?” Dubenich asked.

There was the ding of the elevator. “Asthma,” Mikey said. “Just had to take my inhaler, before we start.”

The elevator dinged close.

~//~

Mikey paused at the entrance to the offices, holding Dubenich back with a gentle touch. “Before we go in, Victor, I hope you understand that the gentlemen will require a…” he paused, searching for the word, his fingers rubbing gently against the material of Dubenich’s suit jacket.

Dubenich was a smart businessman. “A finder’s fee?” he offered.

Mikey beamed. “Exactly!”

Dubenich held him back as Mikey turned for the offices. “I thought your job was to eliminate stealing?”

Mikey laughed, light and bright. “I’m a liaison, Mr Dubenich, not a magician. Shall we?”

Gerard listened to Mikey making the introductions and he circled the plaza, waiting for the crowds around the vandalized cars to dissipate. He shrugged out of his coat, the best disguise he could manage, and headed back to the table Toro and Iero were camped at.

“Nice zipline,” he greeted Iero.

Iero laughed. “Your brother screams like your sister, just so you know.”

Gerard flipped him off, focused on the conversation in the boardroom as it moved through the details of the agreement. “There’s the hook and line…”

“Here comes the sinker. Bring it home, Mikey my man!” Toro finished, offering his hand up to Iero for a high-five.

Gerard waved them to silence. “I believe we will be able to do a lot of business together,” the head of the Nigerian delegation was saying.

“Reel him in, Mikes,” Gerard whispered.

“About the, ahh…” even through the earpiece, Gerard felt the conspiracy settle over the room. “The other matter.”

The pause was heavy with significance. “Of course.”

Gerard had to remind himself to breathe through the long silence that followed as the exchange was made. “Is that agreeable?” Mikey softly asked Dubenich.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Dubenich replied.

Iero and Toro high-fived each other with both hands this time. “Mikey, meet you out front,” Gerard ordered, already on his feet.

By the time they had cleared out and walked around the building, collecting Bryar at the service entrance, Dubenich was a silhouette in the back seat of the car driving away from the building. Mikey fell into step easily as the group swept by.

“You got it?”

In response, Mikey tossed Gerard his own wallet. “Never lost it. You gonna make this work?”

Gerard smiled. “Promise. Come on.”

~//~

The waiting was the hardest. Toro kept busy, tracking supplies, making sure that nothing could be traced, put together with their con. Bryar and Iero checked their equipment three times, like the professionals they were, then went and shot pool for quarters. Mikey sat on the sofa with earbuds in, his version of meditation.

Gerard found a chair, sat back, and settled in to wait. Idly, he wondered how Dubenich was going.

“Hey Mr G,” Toro said, spinning his chair slowly. “They’ve made the call. I’ve scooped them into my holding line.

Gerard waved Bryar over. For this to work, he needed someone Dubenich hadn’t had a lot of conversation with, and Bryar was normally a man of few words.

Bryar rolled his neck, working out the kinks, and then he took the receiver Toro handed him. He glanced at the screen of information Toro called up and nodded.

“Special Agent Higgins,” he snapped. “FBI.”

~//~

The group sat in a loose circle, doling out the last of the supplies Toro and Iero had procured. Mikey had one eye on his phone, and nodded meaningfully at Gerard as it beeped. Slipping it into his pocket, he followed the others out the door and down the stairs.

Mikey paused, holding Gerard back as the others walked on to their cars. “Ma called. Dinner Saturday night. She was overjoyed to hear that you’d be joining us this time.”

Gerard grimaced. “Okay. As long as we’re not in jail,” he joked fatalistically.

Mikey tipped his head, face impassively. “You promised me, Gee. And you never let me down.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Gerard shrugged and followed him. They had a party to crash.

~//~

Gerard sat, head back on the headrest, and listened as Dubenich made it easy for Mikey.

“This way, please,” Dubenich called as he helped ‘Adam’ usher the Nigerians into away from the shareholder’s party and into a conference room, ostensibly to finalize the contracts. “Come in, make yourselves at home.”

Gerard turned his head without opening his eyes. “Toro, ETA?”

“FBI is in the reception, full team on-route. Be ready to fly like a bird, Mikeyway,” Toro muttered, fingers clicking across his laptop’s keyboard.

“Places,” Gerard ordered. In the distance, he heard sirens. The car started up as Bryar eased them back into traffic. Through his earpiece, he heard commotion, then silence. “I’m out,” Mikey muttered. “On the back stairs. Man, you should have seen Dubenich’s face.”

Gerard grinned at the mental image. “Perfect. Coming to get you now, brother.”

~//~

When they arrived, it was beautiful chaos. Gerard tugged his jacket over his shoulders as shredded paper stared to fall.

Iero grinned. “Bit early in the season, isn’t it? Wonder what it is?”

“Bastard got caught taking bribes, dealing with Nigerians under the table, and who knows what else,” a petite blond in an FBI tac-vest snorted. “And he thinks shredding the paper trail is going to help his case? Come on, we need to get up there.”

Mikey shrugged as he stepped up beside Gerard, adjusting his heavy-framed glasses. “You heard her, let’s go get our evidence.”

Ten minutes and a stack of boxes later, their unmarked car pulled out of the rank, wove through the growing mass of journalists, and disappeared into the city.

In the back seat, Gerard took the cell phone Toro handed him and made the call. “Mr Pierson? I believe you lost something. I think I can help you.”

~//~

Once they had gone through the files and sorted the material into three piles – blackmail, Pierson, and garbage – Gerard left Toro gleefully shunting money around and headed for his meeting with Pierson.

Bryar cut him off at the door. “You should have backup.”

Gerard shook his head. “Pierson and I made an agreement to meet one-on-one.”

Bryar snorted. “Yeah, and the last suit we made an agreement with kept his end of the deal real well.”

“Bob, I appreciate it, but this is a straight-forward drop.”

Bryar shrugged. “Okay, but I’ll draw your attention to one last thing.” He leaned forward with a smug little smirk. “See Iero around anywhere?”

Gerard groaned and pulled out his cell as he headed to the car. “Iero,” he snapped as soon as the call connected. “Watch all you like, but don’t get seen and don’t get caught.”

Iero cackled. “If you’re going to let me watch, the least you can do is call me Frank. Or Frankie baby if things get good.” He cut the call, giggling, before Gerard could respond.

Gerard tried not to smile as he started the engine. He was damned if the little maniac wasn’t starting to grow on him.

He pulled up a block from the location of the meet ten minutes later. An arriving text message made his phone beep, and he glanced at the screen as he got out of the car. “He’s alone. Have fun. Frankie baby xoxo”

He climbed the stairs, the elevators out of order with the renovation only half completed. “Mr Pierson,” he greeted the older man waiting by the window.

“I came alone.”

Gerard smiled, knowing that Iero was out there watching, maybe even in the room with them. “I know.” He came to stand beside Pierson at the window. “I also know you lost your entire research archive. What I have here are complete copies, plus computer logs showing that they were removed to Bering Aerospace computers. That should keep your lawyers happy.”

Pierson gave Gerard a long, steady look. “And in return I drop the investigation into the original theft.”

Gerard shrugged and held up the bundle of drives. “You get your property back, and a free shot at your biggest rival. No harm, no foul right?”

Pierson took the bundle cautiously, a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Money?”

Gerard shook his head and walked away. “This project has a different revenue stream. Goodbye, Mr Pierson.”

Gerard walked back down, opened the car, turned on the engine, and waited. He barely had time to tune the radio before Iero was hopping into the front passenger seat, grinning. “Toro called,” he announced. “He’s done.”

Gerard smiled tightly and pulled out.

~//~

The park below the Bering building was full of twisting pathways and post-modern architecture. Gerard walked slowly, admiring the forms, gathering his thoughts before making the final call.

The phone rang once, twice, and then Dubenich answered. “What?”

Gerard’s grin was small, tight, and wicked. “You really should have just paid us.”

Even over the crappy phone speaker, he heard Dubenich gasp as he recognized Gerard’s voice. “I found your bug.”

“No,” Gerard corrected patiently. “You found the blinking light. Battery, wire, LED. They make them in grade school science classes now.”

Dubenich’s voice was a low growl. “I am going to beat this.”

Gerard frowned at a particularly ugly use of colour and continued on to the next sculpture. “Beat what?” he asked. “The theft, the coverup, or the bribe?”

“Screw you,” Dubenich snapped. “I didn’t get any money.”

“Well, no,” Gerard agreed. “We didn’t leave all of it. The new Xbox came out last week, and it has this network gaming thing we all wanted to try.” He glanced over the railing and found his team as Dubenich spluttered. “Okay, here’s the main thing,” Gerard said conversationally. “If a company is hit with a stock drop of ten, fifteen percent, and you see it coming, you sell short and you make a lot of money. If it falls thirty percent? That can make you _epic_ amounts of money.” Gerard could almost _hear_ the pieces fall into place for Dubenich. “We just needed a nice spectacle to damage your public perception. You going to jail? Well, for us that’s kind of a bonus, really.” His voice grew hard. “Say anything to the Feds that even hints we exist? Next time we won’t be so nice.” He cut the call and tossed the phone into a trash bin as he passed.

He approached the little knot of people standing at the intersection of multiple paths with an easy stride, touching Mikey’s shoulder with casual affection and pride as he joined them. Toro wordlessly handed him an envelope. “Thanks, all of you, it was a job well…” the number on the cheque inside the envelope burned itself into his retina and he stuttered. “Wow.” He stared at Toro.

Toro finally let loose the grin he had been holding back. “Time zones,” he said. Rolling his eyes at their blank look, he continued. “London kept trading, and the valuation rolled through to the NASDEQ and…okay, bottom line? I am awesome at what I do, okay?”

Iero laughed. “A lifetime of jobs couldn’t pay this well. Mama Iero is eating steak tonight!” He high-fived Toro’s outstretched hand. “You, sir…” he trailed off, eyes drawn back to the cheque like a magnet.

Bryar reached over and pushed Toro’s shoulder. “Damn, Ray, don’t make me start liking you.”

Toro sketched a little bow. “Age of the geek, baby.”

Mikey sighed, fingers holding his envelope so tightly it was starting to wrinkle. “What now?”

Toro shrugged. “I guess we’re done. I mean, this is go legit and buy Brooklyn kind of money.”

Gerard nodded and stuffed the envelope in his pocket. “It…it was a pleasure,” he managed.

Bryar nodded, face like stone. “We’re done.”

Gerard looked them all in the eye, nodded, and walked away. He needed a drink. He needed…something. He forced himself to keep walking.

Toro appeared from a side path and fell into step beside him. “Dude, you’ve got to admit,” he began without preamble. “That was cool, and we seriously rocked hardcore there.”

“Toro,” he began.

Iero materialized on his other side, already babbling. “I’m good at one thing in this world, just one thing, but you’re good at all kinds of things, and that means I can keep doing my one thing, because I can’t retire from my one thing…”

“Iero,” he tried again.

“You know what,” Bryar said from behind him. Gerard managed not to jump in surprise. “I wonder how long it is before you go nuts. Guys like us don’t go off the job. We stay sharp or we get sloppy, but we can’t ignore the itch.”

Gerard rolled his eyes but didn’t stop walking. That would only encourage them. “Did you just quote _Ocean’s 11_ at me?” The ringing of his cell, his real cell, saved Bryar from answering. Gerard flipped it open and groaned at the name on the display. “Yes?”

“Stop.” Mikey commanded.

Gerard stopped, pulling the entire entourage to a halt. Mikey stepped calmly out in front of him. “You pick the jobs. We bring the skills.”

Gerard bit his lip. “Mikey, you know what I do, who I am. I _catch_ bad guys.”

Mikey stepped closer, and even though he could spot Mikey’s game a mile away, he still felt himself falling under its spell. Maybe, a tiny part of him admitted, maybe he wanted to.

“Bad guys are usually rich guys. Rich, bad men, who feel invincible, who never see us coming. Take and give,” he almost purred. “Find us some guys worse than us. That way, when we do what we do, we’re the good guys.”

Gerard sighed. He could never say no to Mikey. “My rules, my way. Got it?”

Mikey smiled.

~//~

The couple were sobbing as they huddled together. Gerard stared at the way the husband cradled his wife in his arms, and tried to keep his mind on the job at hand.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she broke down again.

Mikey reached out, and gently rested his slim hand on her knee for a moment before retreating. Gerard focused on that, the way Mikey could calculate with exquisite precision the exact movement to convey sympathy and connection without intruding on the most private of grief. “Please,” he murmured. “Take your time.”

“They…they killed her! She was only seventeen, and they said it was an accident, but that company killed her!” Her words broke as she gasped for air around her sobs. The grief shattered for an instant as her maternal rage and frustration boiled to the surface. “I want them _hurt_.”

The husband flinched, but his hands never left his wife’s shoulders. Gerard knew in that moment that they would be taking the job. “We…we can’t pay you,” the husband stuttered.

Mikey nodded. “That doesn’t matter. We operate on an alternate revenue stream.”

The husband was still floundering, looking for the catch. He had had his whole world shattered, the death and the process following it leaving a maze of fractures in his certainty. “I don’t understand what you…the judge said we couldn’t appeal.” Mikey glanced backwards, an almost imperceptible gesture. “What can you do?”

Gerard didn’t move. “Right now,” he began slowly. The couple both snapped their heads up to look at him. Mikey had woven his spell so completely that they had all but forgotten the four other men in the room. “Right now, you are struggling to bear this enormous weight. On top of you are giant companies and institutions that are using all their money and all their resources to smother you. They are trying to trap you, keep you silent and locked away, deny your loss. What we provide is…leverage.” He smiled.

~//~


End file.
